


they hurt me so bad so you can love me so good

by orphan_account



Series: the one where blaine meets kurt and is insecure about being a virgin (good thing he won't be a virgin for much longer) [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Skank!Kurt, bottom!Blaine, older!blaine, top!Kurt, virgin!blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>uhhh i accidentally wrote older!virgin!substitute teacher!blaine meeting experienced!skank!kurt. no regrets? just love?<br/>warnings for: LOTS of queerphobic language. this will have a second part (probably) that will be just smut with feelings and dialogue, but this first part is queerphobic and contains some violence (the knees-to-balls type, not weapon related), so please heed that warning! also, there is major age difference here (kurt is 18 and blaine is 39).<br/>thank you to <a href="http://deppcriss.tumblr.com">lizz</a> for the beta! she will also be responsible for getting me to write part two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they hurt me so bad so you can love me so good

Puck and Quinn aren’t at their usual place under the bleachers today. Kurt smokes by himself for a few minutes until it gets too depressing without having people to banter and make snarky comments with. He stubs out the cigarette and runs his fingers through his recently re-dyed purple highlights. There’s not much to do without the rest of the Skanks here. The big lonely ache in his throat builds, and he wanders along the outside of McKinley for awhile before deciding that fuck it, he can go to class for the first time in three months. He doesn’t know what class he has, though, so he waits for the bell to ring before slipping into the hallway and walking briskly into the closest classroom.

Kurt slips into a desk at the back and pulls a notebook out of his satchel. It’s a bit battered, but unused, so he opens it and turns his attention to the front of the class, where a short man is writing on the board. The teacher’s hair is overly gelled, essentially plastered to his scalp save for the small rebellious curls at the nape of his neck. The muscles tick in his forearm as he writes briskly. What really draws Kurt’s attention, though, is the pair of tight red pants that encase his legs. Or, rather, his ass, which is round and pert and gorgeous. The man’s shoulders are broad and strong, his hips small in contrast to them, and he has an almost hourglass figure that has Kurt staring unashamedly. What class is he even _in_? For how long has this man been teaching at McKinley, and why have Puck and Quinn never notified Kurt of his presence?

Lord. The bell is ringing, and the man turns around with a bright smile. Kurt subtly cranes his neck over the guy sitting in front of him. The board reads _Welcome to class! I’m Mr. Anderson, your substitute teacher_ in neat black letters.

“Hello, guys! I’m Mr. Anderson, and I’m the substitute teacher for Mrs. Prensky today. She’s given me a worksheet for you guys to do, so I’ll pass that out after I take attendance.” He continues, calling names and checking off students, and Kurt slouches down in his seat, doodling in his notebook, grateful that there are enough students in the class that Kurt’s presence has gone so far unnoticed. Anderson’s a substitute—that explains why Kurt’s never seen him before. Puck and Quinn are supposed to tell him if there’s a new hot piece of ass in the halls, so he supposes he can’t bitch at them for not telling him about Anderson now.

He looks at Anderson again through lowered lids—the man is wearing a baby blue polo, and he doesn’t look terribly old. Kurt would guess that he’s in his thirties, maybe low forties at most. His crow’s feet are an indication of age, sure, but the way he keeps biting his lip and rocking back and forth on his feet slightly seem restlessly innocent. His honey eyes are sweet and wide and trusting, and his voice is smooth and low. Kurt wants to pin that compact little body underneath his and hear that voice scream out of a mixture of pain and pleasure. He shudders and lowers his shoulders over the desk. Anderson has finished taking attendance and is now handing out the worksheet. Of course he’s not the type of substitute who gives the whole stack of papers to one student and have the kid pass it on. He’s coming around to everyone individually. Goddammit.

Kurt starts sketching a design for a bowtie on his notebook and ignores the weird look one of the girl students is giving him. Anderson is about halfway through the row of desks, and it’s only a matter of time till he’s noticed Kurt. Kurt adds in small polka dots on one side of the bowtie and thick stripes on the other. Anderson’s coming down his row now. That ass looks even better when he’s walking, supported by his thick thighs and almost bouncing with every step. Anderson reaches him, looking quizzically at what’s in his notebook—Kurt resists the urge to slam it shut—before placing a worksheet on his desk and moving back behind the teacher’s desk.

Kurt looks at the worksheet out of curiosity. Apparently he’s in a music theory class. He snorts. Fate loves its cruel ironies. Kurt picks up the worksheet and rips it loudly in two, causing some more people to turn and give him a funny look. Anderson clears his throat.

“So, that’s due at the end of class, guys! If you have any questions, feel free to ask me.” His voice hasn’t changed tone, but his eyes keep darting over to Kurt in the back corner. Kurt arches an eyebrow when they make eye contact and stares until Anderson’s face pinks at the cheeks and he looks down. His eyelashes are long and curly, how his hair must look when it’s not gelled. Kurt watches his throat bob as he swallows and wonders if any of the students in this class know his reputation. Obviously he’s a Skank and gay, but the slut rumors are more recent. And it’s true, Kurt has slept with three other out gay guys at McKinley—not to mention at least two who were closeted—but the rumors are wrong, he’s never slept with a teacher. He’s thinking he might have to change that.

Having sex is a way to escape, just like skipping class and smoking. But it isn’t something Kurt enjoys half as much. The guys always assume that he’s the effeminate gay stereotype in bed as much as he is out of it, and Kurt lets them. The closest he’s ever come to having a relationship was Andrew. They hadn’t had sex, but they had slept together in the most literal sense of the word. Kurt still remembers holding the boy close to him as he slept, front to front. He’d never felt as content as he had in that moment. Andrew had let himself be vulnerable, let Kurt take care of him and protect him, and that made Kurt feel safe and wanted like nothing else. Andrew had moved to California at the end of sophomore year, and they had fallen out of contact since. That summer, Kurt lost his virginity to a closeted jock who wanted sex and roughness and nothing else. It wasn’t ideal, but at least when he was getting fucked he didn’t have to think about the death threats and the name calling and the—

“Hey, _Mr. Anderson_.”

A kid in the front row sneers, leaning back from his desk. His worksheet is balled up and stabbed through with a pencil. Anderson looks up.

“Can I help you…?” he asks, clearly expecting the kid to fill in his name. The boy merely rocks his chair back precariously and snorts.

“You a faggot?”

Kurt sits straight up in his desk. The shocked, hurt look flashes only a moment on Anderson’s face.

“Unless you have a question about the worksheet, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Fuckin’ homos,” the boy says, and Kurt really, really wishes he’d said his name so that he could tell it to Puck and Quinn and they could help him corner the little bastard at his locker.

Anderson stares down at the desk, and Kurt wonders why he hadn’t done anything about the kid yet.

“You a virgin, faggot? Because there’s no way anyone would fuck your fat ass. Not if they had eyes.” The boy cackles, his chair teetering back and forth.

An angry fire is boiling its slow way through Kurt’s body as he watches Anderson completely shut down. The bright smile, the wide eyes, all gone. And then the wadded up worksheet flies through the air and strikes Anderson on the side of the head.

“Answer me, homo!”

The boy barely has time to laugh again before Kurt’s out of his seat and kicking over the boy’s desk, sending the kid down with it.

“Hey, what the fuck—” Kurt yanks the kid back up by his collar and fixes him with his most impressive bitch glare.

“I’m not sure why you think it’s okay to antagonize a teacher, substitute or not, and I’m _really_ not sure why this class is letting you get away with it. But someone’s sexual orientation is not your business, and whether or not they’ve had sex isn’t either. Now you can apologize, or I’ll personally ensure that these next few minutes will be a living hell for you. Got that?” The boy’s mouth works for a moment before he answers.

“Geez, McKinley is the fuckin’ queer sanctuary now, isn’t—”

Kurt knees the boy in the balls and manages to sock him in the cheek before he collapses on his overturned desk. He goes back to his seat, ignoring the grunts and groans of pain that the boy makes as he curls in on himself. Now everyone in the class is watching either him or Kurt. Great. Kurt puts on his headphones, turns up the volume, and starts another bowtie design. He watches from his peripherals and mutes the music when Anderson hesitantly rises from his desk and makes his way over to the boy.

“I can take you to the nurse, if you want—”

“Get the fuck away from me,” the boy gasps from the floor.

Anderson sighs. “Can someone please take him to the nurse?”

A Latina cheerleader who Kurt thought was looking at him with respect stands up and slings the boy over her shoulder before he can protest. “I got it.”

She walks out of the classroom while Anderson slumps back behind his desk. Another girl raises a timid hand.

“Yes?”

“Should we give the worksheet to you when we’re done, or put it in the classwork folder?”

“It can go in the classwork folder,” Anderson says, voice distant. He’s obviously struggling to conceal how upset he is, and Kurt’s heart goes out to him. He’d forgotten how bad the kids were here. Freshman through junior year had been hell. Thank god he’s eighteen now, and can basically do whatever the fuck he wants as a Skank.

Kurt spends the rest of class listening to the _Wicked_ soundtrack. When the bell rings and everyone starts leaving, he goes to follow them but is stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Stay a minute?”

Anderson’s fingers are callused. Kurt wonders if he plays an instrument.

“Sure.”

They watch the rest of the kids leave, and Kurt realizes that the cheerleader never came back to class.

“What’s your name?” Anderson says, leaning against the teacher’s desk. It’s such an unexpected question that Kurt gives him the truth.

“Kurt Hummel.”

“You’re not in this class.”

“No,” he responds, though it’s not a question.

Anderson’s cheeks are going red. Kurt suspects it has something to do with the way he’s staring at him. Well, it’s not Kurt’s fault he’s so damn cute. There’s a patch of stubble on Anderson’s cheek that he must’ve missed shaving this morning. Even without the heel on his Docs, Kurt is sure that Anderson would be shorter than him. He likes that.

“What’s _your_ name?”

Anderson blinks. “Blaine.” It fits him, Kurt thinks. Short and sweet and dapper. They’re still staring at each other, but Kurt doesn’t think that Blaine is uncomfortable. He sort of wants to drag his fingers over Blaine’s Adam’s apple and pull open the three buttons of his polo to expose his collarbones and press into Blaine’s space until he’s panting underneath him.

“Thanks for, um, doing that.” Blaine gestures at the overturned desk, and Kurt grins.

“First time I’ve ever gotten thanked for beating up a student.”

“I meant for defending me,” Blaine says quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Kurt snorts. “Are you kidding? Of course I did. I’m not a bystander like the rest of those dumbass kids. If someone’s doing something wrong, I’m not going to not call them out on it.”

Blaine’s mouth twitches. “Well, still. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how cruel these kids can be. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in high school, but I guess there are always those people who will know your weak spots no matter how you try to conceal them.”

Kurt bites his lip, watching as Blaine’s eyes follow the movement. “So you are gay? I mean, don’t tell me if you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything.”

Blaine shifts slightly closer to Kurt. “No, it’s fine, I am gay. And of course I owe you something. You did something for me. I’d like to do something for you. Um. This is the last class I’m substituting for for the day. So, uh. Yeah.” He’s rambling. It’s adorable. On impulse, Kurt cups his cheek and watches as Blaine’s eyelids flutter and his lips part.

“And what would you like to do for me, sweetheart?”

Blaine’s eyes are so wide again. So innocent. Fuck. Kurt puts his hands on those strong shoulders and presses him against him, feels the half hard curve of Blaine’s dick in his pants.

“Oh. _Oh_ , please—”

“I want to make you feel so good,” Kurt whispers. He puts a hand on Blaine’s chest and feels his heart thudding fast beneath it. “Will you do that for me? Will you let me make you feel good?”

Blaine’s hips stutter into his.

“Please, please, _yes_.” Kurt kisses Blaine’s mouth soft, then wet, then open. Blaine has one hand propped on the desk for balance, but his muscles are going loose as Kurt sucks at the hinge of his jaw.

“Here. Go against the wall, that’s it.” Blaine maneuvers himself backward around the desk till they hit the wall. Kurt puts one of Blaine’s hands on his face and the other on his hip. “You’re so beautiful, honey. So good for me. Such a good boy.” Blaine whines when Kurt pulls away. “I’m going to lock the door, okay? Then I’ll come back and kiss you. I’m right here.”

“Yes, Kurt,” Blaine breathes. Kurt closes and locks the classroom door as fast as he can before he shoves Blaine against the wall and kisses him till he’s writhing, little hips churning fast into Kurt’s own. “Please please please—”

“Yes, little one?” Kurt says, teasing the words. The more of his weight he puts on Blaine, the more the man relaxes. He’s sort of afraid Blaine won’t be able to stand up much longer. “What do you want?”

Blaine breathes heavily, chest heaving against Kurt’s. His eyes fall shut and reopen with nothing but trust in them. Kurt sort of can’t breathe, he’s that beautiful.

“I want whatever you want, Kurt. You can do whatever you want.”

Kurt kisses him, a reward. “I told you what I want, silly. I want you to let me make you feel good. So tell me how. Tell me how I can make you feel good.”

Blaine’s blush is bright red and crawling steadily down his neck. “K-Kurt. I, um. I don’t—” he’s struggling, and Kurt watches patiently, pressing the heel of his palm into Blaine’s crotch. “ _Ohgod_ please, I, I don’t know, just, something. F- _fuck_.” But he’s not looking Kurt in the eye, even while he’s thrashing against Kurt’s hand. He also hasn’t kissed Kurt back—he’s let himself be kissed and opened under Kurt’s mouth, but he hasn’t actively responded to anything that Kurt’s done. Hmmm.

“Have you done this before, baby?”

Blaine blinks once. “Uh, I’ve— _oh_ —never made out with one of my students, if that’s what you mean?”

“Not quite. I mean you’ve never really done this before, have you? Making out in general?” Kurt slips a hand down to squeeze Blaine’s ass, and Blaine lets out a squeaky yelp. “Is that why you got so upset about that boy? Because he guessed right?”

Blaine’s body stills against his own, and Kurt is shocked and saddened to see tears clumping through his eyelashes. Blaine lets out a sad little laugh.

“Well, yeah. I am a virgin, and it’s pretty much exactly like he said. No one wants someone like me. I’m t-too old, and I’m too gay, and my ass is too big.” He turns away, tears streaking his cheeks. “And this is the part where you leave me, too. I mean, no one wants a guy this age who’s had no experience at all.” Blaine’s voice breaks on the last word, and he chokes out a sob. “S-sorry for crying all over you. You can go to your next class now, or wherever.”

Kurt can’t believe this. First he’d gotten the class with the hottest substitute teacher _ever_ , then he’d gotten to beat up a homophobic idiot (which was strangely satisfying), then he’d had the best makeout session ever with the hot substitute, and now that same gorgeous man was crying because he was afraid that Kurt would leave him. And why? Because he was a virgin, and because he’d obviously been bullied enough that he actually believed that he wasn’t beautiful. It made Kurt so mad that he could scream. Instead, he took a tissue from the box on the desk and used it to gently blot the tears from Blaine’s face.

“I’m _not_ leaving you. Especially not in this state. Blow your nose, sweetheart. Good. Now look at me—shh, shh, don’t talk, just listen. You are beautiful. Do you think I’d be here making out with you if you weren’t? I have standards, you know, and you go above and beyond them. But if we’re going to this, I want to do it right. Are you free tomorrow night?”

Blaine shudders out a shaky breath. “Y-yeah.”

“Okay. You’re going to give me your number, and then you’re going to go home and call me so we can set up a date tomorrow. Is that okay?”

Blaine is looking at him like he hung the moon in the sky or something. “Yes. Please. That’d be—really nice.”

“I’m sorry that asshole treated you like shit today,” Kurt says quietly. “But he was wrong. You’re more than your sexual orientation or your virginal status anyway. I’m sorry that you don’t think so. But I’d like to help you see in you what I see in you, if you’re alright with it.”

“Thank you,” Blaine says, eyes shining. “I’m—I’m just really grateful you came to class today. Even if you’re not in this class.”

Kurt takes out his phone and hopes that Blaine can’t see the tears seeping into his eyes. “Here. Put in your number. I’ll text you when I’m home. See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

 

\--

 

 


End file.
